


here I am, there you go again

by Ominous



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew is not jealous, Anyways, But They're assholes, Crack Fic, I needed neil with a goofy ex, M/M, Past Relationship(s), and whipped, andreil are in love, ex boyfriends, it all works out, james is trying to be his version of nice, neil learning how to be friends with his mafia ex, no unrequited feelings or anything, please dont take it too seriously I'm just having fun lol, so he says, they're just dumb boys trying to be friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26610145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous/pseuds/Ominous
Summary: There's many things about the past Neil chooses to leave behind, and most of the time it's for the best. For some reason though, his brain can't help but cling to the last memories of him."My Ex." Neil bites his tongue at the word, because it never feels right. At this point, so many years later, that man is no one. A stranger. He shouldn't presume to know him anymore than his ex should presume to know Neil.If he remembers Neil at all.But Neil should know better than anyone that the past always has a way of catching up to him, and this time, he's not as willing to run as he might've initially thought.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Past Neil Josten/OC
Comments: 65
Kudos: 375





	here I am, there you go again

**Author's Note:**

> *pokes my head out from around the corner* I can explain.
> 
> I actually really can't I just?? Really wanted to give Neil a mafia ex boyfriend and make them both badass losers, I had a NEED so I wrote 17k of it *shrug* I will say this is largely just me being silly and having fun, Jaime is my actual OC who lives in my brain rent free and I never really thought I would write this fic but? here we are lol
> 
> ALSO I'll preface this by saying this is obviously just a big AU where neil ran into james a little later on the run as an older teen, so just...stretch the timeline out a lil for the fic's sake lol
> 
> Big thanks to all the twitter support I've gotten, and also thank you [nightquills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightquills/pseuds/nightquills) for reading this over, since even my crack fics need to have minimal typos ;)

The tender skin of Neil's thigh still stings from the burn of the needle, even as Andrew's gentle touch traces the raised edges. Neil sighs as he kicks off his sweatpants completely. He should've known Andrew would take his time admiring the ink, especially when it's on Neil's thigh— _especially_ when so much of it is dedicated to him.

Neil might be more sentimental than he thought.

He tries to hide his smile as Andrew traces the crisscrossing lines of the sword's hilt, finger tapping the design lightly when it reaches the actual blade like it could prick him if he's not careful. And right at that point, where the blade begins to narrow and sharpen, are the initials AJM.

Andrew tried to say he wouldn't care what Neil got, but that was obviously a lie. He lingers too long on the initials, bold and solid, on the smaller knife design drawn within the sword that is a replica of his own.

He follows it as it spans Neil's thigh, ending at the point right above his knee.

The tattoo is fresh, only a couple days old, but neither of them seem capable of looking away from it. Neil's smile threatens to split his face, and Andrew is too fixated on the inky lines to scold him for it. He wriggles a little as he turns over, letting Andrew look his fill. It's not pretty yet due to the redness and swelling, but when it heals it'll be exactly what Neil envisioned.

A reminder that he's safe. Protected.

Andrew's fingertips are somehow more electric than the blowtorch feeling of getting the tattoo, but Neil never wants it to end.

The hilt of the sword is designed like leather, with threads weaving in and out. More than a few times, Andrew rested his palm against it as if to actually grip it in his hands.

It turned more into squeezing _other_ parts of Neil, but neither of them complained.

The Columbia house is warm, like the inside of a car that's been baking in the sun too long, rendering Neil incapable of moving. It's a heavy, soul-sucking warmth, but there's something oddly calming about the whir of the ceiling fan above them mixed with the sounds of cars passing through the neighborhood through the open windows.

Neil's not sure when he became so soft—when he started appreciating even these annoying moments where nothing is happening. Nothing to do, nothing to be afraid of.

He sighs, turning to watch Andrew as the blond pushes his hair back. It's wet from his second cold shower, and judging from the frizziness, it won't be long until the third. The mugginess is unbearable for Andrew, but Neil always finds his boyfriend has a harder time seeking comfort elsewhere when Neil is in his bed.

Even with the sweat beading on his forehead, even with his armbands and shirt shed, Andrew stays put, sharp eyes following the stark lines of Neil’s tattoo.

Maybe they can go get shaved ice later. Neil heard the truck a few hours ago...

With Andrew's driving, they could find it.

Andrew's hand curls over Neil's hip and settles on his lower back, pulling him closer despite the heat. His eyes flick up to Neil, full of that slow consideration where he's framing his words carefully. It's an old habit, a way of trying to effectively get the best answer with minimal opportunity for lies or excuses.

Neil doesn't take any offense to it. Andrew's whole life has been weeding out the liars and cons, and Neil would never hide anything from him anymore. No matter how many times he needs to prove that, he will.

"Why a sword? "Andrew asks finally, and Neil's actually surprised. Despite all Neil's talk about getting a tattoo, Andrew hadn't actually asked about any of his motivations or reasons behind the design. It makes sense; Andrew isn't in the business of questioning Neil's non-life threatening decisions, since freedom is a luxury Neil has only somewhat begun to embrace without guilt. The blond had only decided to speak up when Neil claimed he wanted something to remind him of Andrew too, and Andrew had deemed it unnecessary.

Neil begged to differ.

"It's a reminder of both of us," Neil answers easily, hovering his hand over where Andrew's armbands would usually be. He'd almost considered a knife. There's nothing more Andrew than that, but he wanted some of his own personalization too. Thinking about how to phrase it, Neil realizes there's no good way to do so. Neither of them needs to be coddled, but he hates making Andrew upset. "You like knives, but I don't think I could handle them on my body again. Not alone."

Not even like this.

As expected, Andrew tenses up. The protectiveness is hard to force away when it comes to Neil, to the point when Andrew looks about ready to shield him from a threat that's not there. Neil huffs a laugh; it's as if the moment Andrew spies a butcher block, he'll be ready to chuck it out the window.

Latching onto the noise, Andrew's face loses the tightness, and he sinks back down into the pillows. "So...swords?"

Neil smirks lightly. "Yup. Still cool and stabby," he reasons. "Like you."

Andrew glares, but doesn't let it go. His gaze never strays from Neil's eyes or his lips, demanding more. That couldn't be the only reason. Right before getting the tattoo, Andrew had asked him why not a key, why not a fox? Why not a million of the other things Neil could use to remind himself of his new life?

And, well, that's the frustrating part. Neil doesn't exactly feel like he has the right to completely forget who he used to be. Even though that life terrified him, even though he would never want to go back...it's a part of him. It shaped him. If he can't make sense of it sometimes, at least he'll remember it's real.

Neil swallows, and looks down at his thigh. The blade is thin, but sturdy; if it were real it would have no problem holding up, slicing through tendon and bone. The words drip out like blood down the metal. "And…I used to be really good with them," he whispers, and then he can feel the strain of his wrist, the chafing of his palm from hours spent practicing his lunges and swings. "I wanted to have something my father would never use."

Swords were too elegant, and offered too clean of a cut.

Not _The Butcher's_ style at all, and so Neil gravitated to them like a moth to the flame. His father wouldn't let him get away with zero training, and—

"If I had to use a weapon anyways, I wanted some say," he explains, and Andrew takes it with a nod. Neil smiles down at the tattoo, at the fox charm hanging from the hilt along with bright paper stars (Katelyn's idea), and every subtle reminder pointing to Andrew. To home.

His real swords weren't nearly as pretty. Not nearly Andrew enough.

But every time he looks down at this, he'll have no choice but to remember a time that he can't bleach out of his brain. There's some comfort in that, no matter how twisted. He can't be rid of that part of himself, but it's a piece Andrew has accepted.

No matter what Neil has done, no matter the lies or the blood he’s spilt, he's still _Neil_.

The heat be damned, Neil moves closer to Andrew. His boyfriend keeps the distance acceptable, so their overheated limbs don't have to be pressed together, filling in each other's gaps like a weird game of twister. "Didn't get to practice much once we ran, and mom eventually made me ditch them."

Neil didn't allow himself to express many emotions while on the run, other than fear and paranoia. But that day...that had stung a little.

The blurry tone of another voice, deeper and laced with discontent flies to the front of his mind. Another voice, another boy who had not yet come into his own. It's a voice that's not resigned to fate yet— one that’s not quite sure what's happening when Neil places the swords in his hands.

"Where did you leave them?" Andrew asks, and the voice distorts even more. When Neil blinks up at Andrew, there's mild excitement in his eyes, like he wants to track them down. Neil hates to be the bearer of bad news, and he rolls his eyes.

What an adventure that would be, if the swords were still where Neil left them.

_"How...how long should I keep them?"_

_"It doesn't matter. I doubt I'll ever be able to come back."_

Neil's own voice, while younger, sounds as old and withered as he felt back then. It resonates in his head, along with the image of a face Neil doesn't want to bring clarity to. He's not sure if it's out of guilt, but he doubts it. No, he finds it hard to feel guilt for much in his past. Things were how they had to be, and there was nothing he could've done to change it.

But there's something there, unpleasant and unsure, an unfinished problem with no discernible answer.

"With my—with him." He nearly says ex, but that never feels right. It's what Andrew had called him at first, but Neil grimaces at the term. He doesn't think it applies. But 'friend' is questionable, and 'acquaintance' isn't enough.

What else should he call the one who kissed him slow and unsure, who held onto his blades for dear life? The one so infuriating he couldn’t bear to disobey his own parents or to recognize his own potential beyond his family line?

No, Neil knew him too well to act like they were total strangers. Neil just never got a chance to think about it. Everyone then was either a tool or a stranger, because that's how it had to be.

Andrew's face relaxes slightly, his own version of veiled surprise, but he doesn't react beyond that. He knows—of course he knows. They've talked about all their past flings and experiences together while trying to figure out their own barriers. Learning how to fit against one another, and when to take steps back...

It had been a part of the process. It's just—

"You never talk about him," Andrew states. Yeah, Neil never talks about any of them, and he remembers the other fleeting kisses and faces even less. They might as well be ghosts. Andrew didn't have much to offer in terms of relationship experience, but at least his perfect memory could recall all his hook-ups, his explorations.

Neil huffs; he's not jealous of who came before him, just like Andrew isn't jealous of his ex, but something inside Neil tosses and turns at the mention of anyone else kissing Andrew. Petulantly, he snuggles closer, and tries not to squirm from the warmth.

Contrary to that, he's not upset by the fact Andrew has more experience. It just means Neil gets to please Andrew in the ways he likes best, gets to tailor every kiss and touch to _Andrew_ , because there will never be anyone else.

Neil knows that.

But, it doesn't make his ex unimportant, as brash and infuriating as he was. He was someone who was there for Neil, even if for just a few moments. Part of Neil's new life means that he's able to see things in a new light, too—even things he'd rather keep buried. It makes things hard, and he's aware that the unpleasant feeling coiling within him is reluctant appreciation mixed with fear.

He has his Foxes; he has his family. But if he's being honest, without the work they put in, without their _direction_ , Neil wouldn't know the first thing about maintaining those kinds of bonds.

Reviving severed relationships from the past just seems like an impossible feat—one he shouldn't try to attempt even if he could. And he _can't_.

The statement feels a little frail, but it’s true, right? He’s not even sure where his ex is these days.

"There's not much to say," he settles on, but waves his hand as if to correct himself. No, he simply doesn't know how to say it. "He's hard to explain."

Neil bites his tongue at the phrasing; at this point, so many years later, that man is no one. A stranger. He shouldn't presume to know him anymore than his ex should presume to know Neil.

If he remembers Neil at all.

At that, the image in his head clears up against his will, and despite his resistance, Neil can't help but smirk at the memory of a dramatic eye roll and a shove to his shoulder.

"What an asshole," he says up at the ceiling, but his usual bite is missing. He shakes his head, and a phantom smile appears and fades in a matter of seconds. "He'd probably hate me now, if he's alive."

Neil, someone with so much potential to devour the world, with the ability to carve his own reputation out like his father had...and what is he doing with his life? What has he done for himself with that family legacy?

He's here in South Carolina, playing Exy.

Sounds perfect, in Neil's opinion, but he already knows the other man’s opinion would be the exact opposite.

It’s a good thing Neil hardly ever listened to him.

Andrew traces Neil's face with a hum, and Neil lets himself be scanned like he's in one of those hospital machines. Andrew can always detect things in him he'd rather not talk about yet, and it would be annoying if it weren't the same on his end. They _have_ to talk about most things; their minds and logic are too skewed and convoluted to be read right off the bat, no matter how well they know each other. But this time, Andrew's clearly gotten lucky.

The blond sighs and rolls over, face in the pillows and back fully exposed. It tickles Neil, knowing that Andrew trusts him to watch out for him. That Andrew feels alright here, in this overheated little bedroom with him.

Amused, Neil pokes the side of Andrew's forehead about five times before Andrew bats him away.

"What?" Neil asks, and his smile grows when Andrew peeks one glaring eye out. Cute.

"Bad things always happen when you assume," Andrew mumbles into the blanket. While Neil's track record is not the best, Andrew has no right to make it sound that much like a prophecy. Neil's laugh, too loud and sudden, gets swallowed up in a kiss soon after.

\--

He doesn't think much of Andrew's words, which is rare—but in Neil's defense, he has insider knowledge.

It's been over five years since he's seen his swords _or_ the fabled ex who held them. It's random that Neil's thinking about this _now_ , when he's managed to convince himself that everything pre-Neil Josten should be held at a distance at worst, and disregarded completely at best.

But he supposes Nicky or Allison would call this a development in Neil's callousness, and he hates it even more that he's proving them right.

That he might care to know, or... _try_ to care. He can’t say he does yet, because he can't care about a shadow, a ghost.

And Neil supposes Andrew has a point. Nothing in his life stays quiet, and nothing important remains unfinished.

When Neil gets a letter in the mail a few months later, it only cements that infuriating fact of his life. It all comes back around—the good and the bad. He's never free, and maybe he shouldn't be. Part of what he likes about his life now is the fact that he can be tethered, tied to things and people. As paranoid as it makes him, it’s beginning to be more of a luxury.

The first thing he notices is that the letter is fancy and official looking. _Too_ official, too formal. Not exactly a good sign, given the world he grew up in. It's pink, though. Most threatening things in their line of work are sent in white. It's square with a gold trim, plain in every other way apart from the gold family seal pressed into it. A wolf.

Something in Neil's brain itches, but he doesn't have to think about why for long when he reads the sender name.

And suddenly, that's what stands out the most.

_James C. Osorio_

He expects the wind to be knocked out of him, but nothing happens. He starts to think his body is just slow, used to suppressing and locking away anything considered _anxious_ or _fearful_. Neil tries to force it out by tracing the curvy lettering, the slope of the J.

Nothing.

There's not a moment where Neil loses the ability to breathe or think. Instead, his mind supplies him with another piece of the memory.

_"How am I supposed to give them back?" James asks again, as if willing Neil to give him a different answer. And Neil, or whatever name he's picked, doesn't bother telling him how to hold them. James is clutching them so tight below the hilt that he might draw blood, but Neil doubts he'd be able to take them away now._

_Whatever is swimming in James' eyes is a desperation and uncertainty Neil can't dissect; he doesn't have the luxury. He needs to run, needs to move, needs to do whatever his mother says to stay alive._

_"I won't need them back," he emphasizes with a whisper, and tries to tell himself that he's not sad about it. He had hated training with those swords, hated training with Lola and all those other thugs his father hired._

_Still, they'd belonged to him._

_When he turns to leave, he hears the scuff of James' shoe, of someone who so badly wants to follow, wants to say more, but decides against it._

_From the glare Mary sends them both, it's for the best._

_Neil leaves, and he doesn't look back._

Now, staring at this letter, he can't help but shake his head at his own stupidity. Neil's half-hearted farewell had not been final at all.

_What a loser_ , he thinks sullenly, and doesn't know who he's referring to.

He doesn't open it.

\--

Weeks later, it still sits on his desk, sealed.

He's not sure what’s wrong.

It's not that he feels _guilt_ for leaving or not reaching out. He was kind of preoccupied. There's no feelings either—there never was. James knew that too. Neil squints up at the ceiling, letting that sink in.

He doesn't get why James helped him, knowing that Neil didn’t return his sentiments. If James felt that way...

The letter hits him in the face.

"Hey," Neil mutters, and doesn't bother smoothing out the wrinkled edges of the expensive cardstock.

Andrew plops down next to him in the beanbag, carving out a spot for himself where Neil can package his body against him. It should _not_ be comfortable, because Neil is basically in the shape of a cube, but he already feels a lot better.

Andrew grabs the letter between his two middle fingers and keeps it there for Neil to burn a hole through, moving it back into Neil’s line of sight whenever he tries to look away.

Neil huffs; Andrew will never be the type to force him to confront something that's not bothering him, but if something is clearly on Neil's mind, Andrew has no problem pushing him to address it.

_'Stop letting it bother you, or do something about it.'_

Neil rolls his eyes. Right.

Andrew will be by his side, sure, but he won't let him run away.

So, Neil is honest. "I don't know what to do."

Whenever he thinks about it, whenever he gets closer to pinning down a reason or response, it slips away. He might be apprehensive to let that part of his life come back in any form, in any amount. He's not the same as he was back then. He's not supposed to be a nobody, he's not dangerous or wanted. Well, not like that.

He thinks of his Foxes, of the family he's built and that he cherishes so dearly. Why add anything to ruin that? Hasn't he burdened them enough with his past?

It's hard to think of willingly seeking out those old parts of himself, even if James isn't necessarily a horrible aspect of his past. He's not exactly a secret, either. There's been plenty of drunk nights where Allison or Nicky have draped themselves over Neil, pressing for details about the 'mystery man.'

Neil just thinks it's fun to deny them, but part of him also hates to dig up the history.

Combining his present with his past...he knows that's not possible. The past can't be changed, and nothing will ever be the same as it was.

But it _would_ be adding to his present, expanding it further beyond his Foxes.

He's not sure how much he wants that.

Then again, James is kind of an asshole, so who knows if that's what he even wants? The letter could be a death threat, for all Neil knows. The other mafia brat has surely gotten only more infuriating with time, just like Neil. Older, more cunning, more willing to stick up for himself. If James didn't sharpen those skills, there's no way he would've survived.

But now that Neil knows he's out there, he also has a gut feeling James would _definitely_ take all of _this_ the wrong way.

Neil sighs, and suddenly the letter is dangling in front of his face again. Neil bats it away petulantly, but Andrew just drops it into his lap, grabbing Neil's chin and forcing his gaze to meet his own. There's uncertainty swimming in those golden eyes for a moment, but whatever is on Neil's face calms the storm.

Andrew's demeanor softens, but his grip stays rock hard and steady. "Do you want me to burn it?"

Neil swallows, and hears the unspoken gesture. _'Do you want me to get rid of the choice for you?'_

It makes Neil smile despite all the feelings warring inside him. Andrew's methods of comfort will never be conventional, but Neil thinks that makes them twice as strong, twice as caring.

Neil shakes his head, because he knows that much at least. He'll have to read it, eventually. His mind won't rest until he does.

Andrew accepts this with a nod and releases Neil, but doesn't move away as Neil nestles closer.

Andrew holds his breath a bit longer than normal before he exhales, and oh, Neil thinks he knows what some of the uncertainty might've been. He lifts his chin from Andrew's shoulder with a smirk and waves the wrinkled letter around. "You'd enjoy that, I'm sure," Neil teases, and feels the air flow from his lungs when Andrew's eyes narrow.

The playfulness in Neil is something only Andrew can bring out, but right then it's as intense as a raging fire.

Because it's ridiculous that Andrew could ever think—

"I'm not jealous."

Andrew's voice is tight as he squeezes Neil closer, and Neil knows his own beaming smile is pissing Andrew off. But he can't help it.

As if Andrew could ever have a reason to be jealous. It's not that. Andrew, though he doesn't have to say it, would never have anything but the utmost faith in Neil until Neil gives him a reason to doubt. Neil hasn’t. He won’t.

Andrew takes everything Neil says as the truth when it comes to their _this_ —even when it pisses him off, even when he can't handle it or make sense of it yet.

So it's...cute, Neil thinks, that it would ever be brought up.

Because Neil just sees Andrew.

"Didn't say you were," Neil says softly, and leans forward to graze his cheek against Andrew's. He doesn't feel like stealing a kiss, because he's not sure it would be enough. He pouts against Andrew's skin; he wishes he could fit perfectly inside Andrew's chest, could carve a place out and be consumed by him in every way so he'd never feel any distance.

That's silly, he knows, but he imagines it almost like a cartoon. His heart, still beating, surrounded by all things Andrew. Calm, unwavering confidence, rough hands...

Neil breathes in the smell of cigarettes; the scent soaked has thoroughly into most of Andrew's clothes despite him quitting the habit. Then there's sugar, and caramel...

"Stop that," Andrew scolds lightly, but he's breathing just as deep. Andrew's imagination is twice as vivid, and in these moments, Neil wonders if Andrew appreciates it.

Neil would.

He pulls away, tapping the letter to Andrew's chest. "You don't have to worry."

Andrew inclines his head. Understood. "Then why are _you_ worried?"

Neil furrows his brow; if he had to think of a way to sum up all these complicated tangents, he guesses he'd say: "It feels like a can of worms."

Oh, it actually sounds perfect aloud.

"Because it is," Andrew confirms, and lifts his hands so Neil can push his cold fingers up the sleeves of his jacket. He's too used to it to be annoyed anymore. "That's never stopped you before."

And, well. Neil knows that's true too.

Neil curls his hands around Andrew's forearms, grounding himself. It's a toss up as to whether or not Andrew will be willing to offer his two cents, but..."Would you be upset?"

Already, Neil scolds himself. That wasn't the best way to phrase it. But then again, Andrew doesn't make him jump through those hoops anymore.

Not that Neil ever saw them that way. Andrew just opens himself up more now; he lets Neil ask directly, and he knows his answers will still be respected.

Andrew sighs, shivering when Neil presses against his pulse point. Vulnerable, bared. Only for Neil. "I don't control you, rabbit."

And _ah_ , Neil thinks. _See?_

He couldn't mimic this feeling if he tried, not if he met every single person on this planet.

Neil smiles, and he's giving Andrew that look that he hates, the one that twists and restarts some of the slower cogs in his body. Andrew doesn't tell him to stop. "You don't, but I care what you think anyways."

_So quit being stubborn._

Andrew glares, but it's fleeting.

Andrew chews on the question for a while before pulling one arm away from Neil's hold. Neil's disappointment is short-lived when Andrew reaches up to tap on his old scars, following the direction of bandages that aren't there anymore. "I will be here."

And that means more to Neil than any contrived advice—knowing that whatever happens, whatever he decides, Andrew will be there each step of the way.

Neil feels some of the tension from before release him, undoing the knots in his shoulders and joints. He drapes himself over Andrew's broad chest. His body is still twisted strangely in the beanbag chair, but he wouldn't dream of moving.

Andrew's hand finds his hair a second later. "But if he starts shit, I can't be held responsible."

Neil smirks into Andrew's shirt; he wouldn't have it any other way.

\--

In the end, Neil doesn't reach out.

It’s not that he never will, but something stops him each time he tries, and he’s tired of constantly looking over at James’ letter and having his head spin. Those conflicted, searching feelings were left behind along with Nathaniel, and Neil doesn’t feel like he wants to go unearthing them just yet. He’s not ready for the grime under his fingernails from all the involuntary digging.

But he forgot one crucial character flaw he and James always shared: they’re both annoying as hell.

They're leaving practice when Aaron's child-like gasp breaks through the chatter. Neil barely has time to realize the source, much less make fun of him for the noise, because Aaron is peeling off into the parking lot towards a very expensive looking car.

Or, Neil thinks it is. He doesn't know, and doesn't really care.

Matt claps him on the back anyways, as if Neil can even begin to understand what the sleek racer in front of him means. "Are you seeing this? Do you know what that is?!"

"No."

Neil is ignored, to say the least. Allison smirks as they walk over with Renee by her side, surrounding the black car with tinted windows. The only pop of color is in the rims, which have a strip of red laced through them. It's sleek, low to the ground, _fast_.

Matt and Aaron are circling it like vultures while Dan tries to set up a perimeter to avoid them actually touching the thing. It's a sight, and Neil can't help but smile a _little_. The Foxes are a group that grew up too fast, so as much as he doesn't see the point in something like this, seeing his family freak out isn't something he hates.

"Oh Neil, you're hopeless," Allison sighs, plopping her head on top of Neil's damp hair. She's been doing that a lot more now that he's been using the mint shampoo she bought him. "Even I can tell that whoever owns this is loaded."

"I don't recall you needing any more money."

"Dick." Allison's nails are trimmed down due to the start of the season, but they're well cared for enough to still have scratching power. She takes a lazy, faux swipe at him, and Neil dodges with a smug smile of his own.

"Can we leave before you guys break a window or something?" Nicky asks nervously, glancing around for any sign of some rich asshole.

Matt scoffs. "As if I could ever damage a beauty like this."

"It's not about intent, Matthew—we just do not have a good track record."

"I hate to say it but he's right," Dan mutters, but caves to Matt's puppy eyes fairly quickly. "...two more minutes."

"We're gonna get in trouble," Kevin starts, but he's hardly paying attention as he furiously tries to use a laundry pen to get out a stain on his jersey. Neil's 99% sure those things are shit and don't work, but if Kevin wants to waste his energy on it, Neil won't stop him.

Neil smiles at where Andrew is standing next to him, refusing to approach the car in the same way that Matt and Aaron are drooling over it. It's painfully clear he wants to though. His eyes are slightly wider, shinier, and he's raking his gaze over the car as if trying to remember every detail. Neil's heart flutters at the sight.

Neil nudges him, and gets a heated scowl for it that only makes his smile grow. "C'mon, I know you wanna."

Renee giggles behind them, clearly reading Andrew just as well before tiptoeing around him to show off the car with her hands. She flails them a little too, just for fun.

Neil can only follow her lead.

He hops over the invisible line separating Andrew from the car, crossing back and forth over it until Andrew swats at him lazily. Neil laughs, and although Andrew's not showing it, Neil can feel his amused gaze as it tracks Neil, returning the lightheartedness to the moment. Neil skips over to the windows of the car to peer in, but they're tinted to the max.

Weird.

For a moment, he gets an unsettling feeling in his gut, one that overshadows the joy. But this isn't Ichirou's car—it's not his style to leave it or waste time. Neil glides a hand over the handle, the paint job fresh and glistening, and follows the slope of the car until he gets to the gas tank.

On it, engraved in simple strokes, is a wolf.

Neil freezes in an instant, and the blood traveling to his heart hits an impenetrable dam.

Andrew is by his side in a second, trying to see what's wrong, always so attuned to Neil's body and reactions. Neil wants to tell him it's fine; this feeling coursing through him isn't fear or dread.

It's just that feeling of knowing he's about to hit a wall, and there's no escape from whatever consequence that entails.

Neil opens his mouth, and doesn't get a word out.

_"You."_

The voice comes from high up, which shouldn't surprise Neil given how tall James was at sixteen, but this is different. Neil jumps and looks behind him, confused until he tilts his head upwards. The rest of the Foxes follow his line of sight up to the railings of the stadium, up to the outerband where people with higher seats would have to climb. There, in a jacket too warm for the South Carolina humidity, stands James.

Well, damn. Neil's tired, and he doesn't want to deal with this today.

From James' expression alone, though, he can discern that the letter probably wasn't a death threat.

Not to say that James isn't pissed, because of course he is.

The moment they lock eyes, all Neil can think is that James doesn’t look all that different. While Neil, on the other hand, must look like a total stranger. Neil's hair was his natural color when he met James, then black, then a botched brown. But his face had been unmarred, his cheeks hollow.

Neil, despite all his reservations about his looks, is glad to have left those personas behind.

"Whoa, Neil," Nicky whispers loud enough for the Foxes to hear. "Who's the guy? I may be taken, but even I can see _that's_ a man."

Neil squints. Is he?

The other boy, or…Neil guesses he’s not so young anymore, has the same styled dark hair as all those years ago, his cool, analytical gaze unobscured by fringe. It should make the piercing quality of his brown eyes deadlier than Neil is paying any mind to, but he can’t be blamed. James never scared him, no matter how many times the other tried to give off that imposing aura. It should’ve been easy for him, with the full foot he has on Neil height wise, but he never managed it.

Others cowered, but Neil stayed put.

Neil’s sure the other's reputation is a lot worse now, too—growing up in the criminal underground doesn't leave room for any other options. But to him, James just looks like a fuming teenager, the same as back then. Maybe a few more frown lines, here or there.

His hair is a little unrulier than before, forever sticking up slightly due to how stressed James usually is. He’s always wringing his hands through it, always pulling in order to keep his mixture of rage and anxiety in check. Neil once joked, to zero laughter, that James would lose all of it one day.

The South Carolina sun does nothing to irritate James’ tan skin, a little darker now from hot summers spent in the Nevada desert. He must’ve stayed there; it was the last location Neil knew of. It was where he left James standing with swords in his hands.

The nostalgia is fleeting when James continues to look at him like _that_.

Neil's expression sours immediately at James' glare, at his general _everything_ , and the distance must not be that far because James begins to sputter from the sight of it. Like he can't possibly believe Neil has the nerve.

As if Neil ever had anything else, even when crushed under his mother's thumb. His temper was never reigned in all that well.

At Neil's refusal to back down, James points a rather accusing finger in his direction, choking on each attempt at a word, and then pauses when he realizes Neil isn't right in front of him to receive the jab.

James looks down at his wrist, then at the fancy smartphone in his opposite hand, and then back. Neil sees the exact moment his thought process takes over, his need to dissect and analyze as his gaze sweeps over the Foxes, and then moves back to Neil. Deeming them all as non-threats, which Neil wants to point out is irresponsible, James huffs.

"Hold _on_ ," he bites out, still staring Neil down as he moves out of sight in the wrong direction.

Neil doesn't bother calling out to correct him. He's smart, right? He'll figure it out.

Andrew chooses that moment to abandon any respect for the car he had previously, now that he knows who it belongs to. He leans right on it, kicks his leg up behind him too. Neil really wants to kiss him. "I take it that's him."

"Yup."

"Who?" Dan asks, and that's when Neil remembers his family is still kind of in the dark.

Matt and Dan just look torn between getting ready to fight and straight up confused, and Neil finds that he appreciates them the most. Especially given that Kevin's main concern is still scrubbing his stain, and Aaron just looks ready to scold Neil for getting them in trouble again.

Allison, he fears the most.

She can sniff out drama like a bloodhound and the betting pool has been lacking lately, according to Renee, who already has a hand on Allison's wrist to keep her from pouncing.

There's not a good way to explain it that'll avoid questions; the Foxes are too full of them, and he never lies to them anymore.

Neil resigns himself to a tiring day.

"It's...uh?" He tries, looking to Andrew for help. Andrew pulls out his backup cigarette, his _one_ freebie he keeps if the itch ever comes back too strong, lights it, and then makes sure to put it out right on the car.

With a shrug in the Foxes' direction, Andrew says, "Ex-boyfriend."

Neil winces; he really doesn't like the term, but whatever—it's the closest thing that applies.

"Oh," Allison says, and Dan and Matt look at each other to double their processing power. Nicky and Aaron are the only two that understand immediately, and they both look excited for vastly different reasons.

Then, the timer goes off, and Allison's eyes lock onto Neil like he's prey caught in a snare. " _What?_ "

Neil, thankfully, doesn't have time to elaborate. The doors to the back of the stadium (Neil's impressed he found those) swing open in a flurry, and Neil wonders if most in-the-know people would be fearing for their life. Technically, James is intimidating with his height, with that family seal standing out so proudly on his belt. People accustomed to this way of life would surely know their place, would sense the murderous intent emanating from him in waves.

It only reminds Neil of when Kevin comes back from his history lecture close to tears because he lost a debate.

Neil's distress is not what James is after, but his real motivation lies on paper that Neil hadn't allowed himself to read. Whoops.

James’ movements are jerky as he walks up to Neil, eyes scanning around him in poorly concealed paranoia. Neil wonders if this is what he looked like when he first showed up here. Neil tilts his head up slowly as James gets closer, until they're standing face to face, because he can at least give James that.

For all his apparent anger, the other still pauses to chew on his words. His mouth opens and closes, his eyes raking over Neil to catalogue the scars and scanning his body language to stall time. His hesitation is partly calculating, but Neil suspects it’s because he needs to make an entrance in some way. That's different, Neil notes, so apart from the boy who wouldn't speak up with his father in the room. But he had wanted to. James had so badly wanted to scream at any given moment, and when it was just the two of them, he wouldn't shut up.

Neil was always a bit envious of that.

James pauses, and no doubt his mind is rifling through the thousands of responses he could use after not seeing Neil for five years. James’ mind is as organized as a file cabinet thrown into a wind storm; everything is where it should be, but not easy to find. But if Neil had to rank anyone’s mind, anyone’s brain power as second to Andrew’s…

Well, it would have to be James.

Neil sighs, crossing his arms, and does the one thing he knows will get James to talk.

He’s annoying right back. “Well?”

He hears a sigh from behind him, and oh, Kevin must be paying attention after all.

James' mouth forms an 'o' shape, and on cue his hand goes to his hair to make it stick up further. His disbelieving laugh dissolves painfully into a sputter, before he finally settles on: "I can't _believe_ you didn't RSVP."

Neil is ready for a lot; he's ready for accusations, curses, maybe even questions about where he's been. He was not ready for that.

It takes him a few minutes to connect the dots and realize James is referring to his letter, but it continues to not help in the slightest. The flush at the top of James' cheeks seems to grow when Neil doesn't have an answer, but what is he supposed to say to that?

Neil shakes his head, begging his sharp tongue to work.

"Is _that_ what you're starting with?" he asks instead, because he needs to know if James is being serious. When is he ever not?

It's Neil who doesn't take him seriously.

In a second, the tension in James' body deflates like he shouldn't be surprised by Neil's general _being_ and lack of urgency. He rubs his eyes and Neil can tell he's been biting his nails, planning out this encounter like Neil is predictable when history has shown them both that he's not.

"Oh, sorry, I should’ve greeted you," James mutters eventually, with zero trace of remorse, and gestures down at Neil. "Nice face."

Neil scowls. "Better than yours."

James pulls out his phone, doesn't let Neil see whatever is swimming in his eyes, and glares at the black screen. "I'm surprised you don't look worse, given how aggravating you are."

The tone is laced, however slightly, with a threat. That's enough for the scrape of combat boots on asphalt to echo behind him, but Neil raises an arm to stop Andrew from intervening further.

James tracks the movement lightning quick, and whether he realizes it or not, corrects his stance to better receive a blow. It coaxes the fire inside Neil a _little_ , knowing that Andrew is perceived as deadly—that Neil is something to protect.

James' eyes flick over Neil's arm, then up at Andrew, and then back at Neil's face. Whatever he sees there, he must file it away for later.

"I'm okay," Neil tells Andrew, then glares at James for good measure. "He's just annoying."

Empty threats. Everything about James, despite his demeanor, is on the defensive. His phone is his lifeline, as his books and computer always were. Neil still remembers the clunky PDA he used to have, one he imagines James wouldn't be caught dead with now.

If there was something particularly difficult or vulnerable James had to deal with, shoving his face into a phone or his research was preferred.

James huffs, and clutches his phone tighter. "Do you know how many people I had to call to find this shithole?"

But if Neil's not allowed to run, neither is James. He won't give into the deflections; he doesn't have time for them. "Three?"

" _Four_. It was terrible," James says, and that's right. James was never willing to put up with Neil's bullshit, either. He uses it as a trampoline while simultaneously ignoring it. "Then I get here, there's no reception, I don't know why your name changed, and then I see your _picture_ everywhere. Just—who are you?"

James gestures to some of the banners outside the stadium, then to the Foxes, and the inkling of desperation Neil sensed before finally begins to seep through the cracks.

The question of who he is seems to encompass it all; _where were you? How are you? Why didn't I know about it?_

It makes some of Neil's rage bubble to the surface; so many years of finally being upfront about shit makes his patience _worse_. Why can't James just talk to him like he used to? They always bickered, always debated, but Neil thought when it actually came to what they _needed_ to know, there wouldn't be all this one-sided pressure.

And really, why does James _care_? Where has _he_ been? And what the hell makes him think someone like Neil, who is very much _alive_ , is going to put up with this?

"All this because I didn't write you back?" Neil huffs, and then there's his finger in James' face, making him stumble back. "No call? You can find anybody's number, internet history, email, but you had to come all the way here just to yell at me about things I don't care about?"

_I could've answered your questions, I could've told you I'm okay._

What person that cries when the internet is too slow resorts to sending a fucking letter?

James' avoidance maneuvers are different from Neil's, but still transparent. At least to him. James was always giving himself time, stalling and thinking, but Neil knows better than anyone that that’s not always an option.

Sometimes, he's forced to sink or swim. Like with this stupid conversation.

James stares at him for an impossibly long time, and once again Neil is lost. Their bickering usually goes on for a lot longer, but James is stone still and grave. Neil catches the way his throat bobs from swallowing down whatever emotion threatened to make itself known, and James huffs humorlessly. "I see you're as considerate as ever," he says, and this time he backs away. It's just one step, but it's enough to make Neil feel like he might run. When did Neil stop being the runner?

James sees the shock on Neil's face and freezes, glances down at his feet like they've betrayed him, given him away. They don't know how to do this anymore, because...Neil's not sure they _ever_ did.

Neil's mother had rules; no connections, no vulnerability. There were only so many secrets and feelings he could give away, and James always liked to pretend he was stronger than he was. And like that, they're ill-equipped to deal with each other head on, to know what the other needs.

James looks Neil over, and neither of them are soft, but his mask does slip a little. His body slumps forward, and he gestures to Neil's _everything_ like he doesn't know what to start.

He's never seen James look so tired, except for maybe on the day Neil left.

Neil repeats the words in his head, knowing there's a connection he needs to find but can't seem to.

_'I see you're as considerate as ever.'_

Neil blinks. "Huh?"

James' stare, put blankly, is as disappointed as Allison's is whenever she sees Neil's wardrobe.

Speaking of, that's when Allison decides to step in, her post-practice heels clicking against the pavement. James doesn't brace for impact, but he does seem to decide to be wary, because he backs up another foot. Yup, he still has good survival instincts.

"Oh boy, this is the best day of my life," Allison sighs, and Nicky and Aaron nod along in the background. Neil's still not sure what Aaron's deal is, but Andrew is deliberately avoiding his smug gaze at all costs.

"Okay," Dan sighs, walking up to Neil and forming a mini shield between him and James. It's unnecessary, but he appreciates the concern. James' brows shoot up to his hairline, either from Dan's boldness or the fact that Neil has people willing to step in for him. "There's obviously things we need to talk about. How should we do this?"

Ever the diplomatic captain, she opens the question up to the rest of the Foxes, but Andrew beats them all to the punch.

"I can drive him."

And, what comes next is a unanimous, panicked: " _No_."

\--

There's a coffee table between them—the slanted one with the wobbly legs that Nicky happened to find for a steal at some garage sale. It's hardly enough to keep the tension and confusion from seeping under, but Neil is grateful anyways. He picks up his feet to tuck them under himself. It's as if the tendrils of the mix of emotions might snag him, might drag him under.

Andrew hasn't left his side, and ever ones for intimidation, most of the Foxes have migrated to Neil's half of the room. Aaron, Renee, and Kevin are perched on the kitchen island surveying it all, like James' side profile can offer anything more. They all can't see what Neil sees, but he appreciates their presence.

Neil's eyes flick down to where James checks his phone, and catching the movement, James stares at him dead on, one finger perched on the power button. There's a twitch to his hand, a quiet hesitation and need to distract himself with the device.

But, in the first show of respect, he turns the phone so it's on the table screen down and pushes it away.

Something in Neil creaks open a little bit.

But ah, nothing pleasant ever lasts. James grabs the now tattered envelope with his family seal on it, and smoothens out the creases. He lingers too long on the seal, giving a sharp tug to see if it's ever been so much as messed with. His frown deepens, and he nods in understanding with himself and no one else.

For once, the need to explain spikes in him.

"I was working up to it," Neil blurts out stupidly, and hates the way it almost carries an underlying current of guilt. If anything, what he hates most is being unprepared. If he'd just opened the letter, he'd have more to say.

From the way James' eyes narrow, it was the wrong excuse.

James taps the envelope against the coffee table once, twice, clearly debating on if he has the strength to broach that subject.

James surveys the photos on the table and around them on the walls, his eyes catching Neil's decorative jersey hanging off one sleeve because he hadn't had the time to replace the second hook. James eyes narrow before evening out into apparent exhaustion, and Neil notes the dark circles there; he smooths his hand under his eyelids, and in predictable fashion, evades the difficult things like Neil would.

"It’s Neil now?" James asks stupidly, like he didn’t address a damn letter _to Neil Josten_ , and looks up to the ceiling a moment later because he knows it.

Neil shrugs. It's not pity he's taking on, but pride. No matter how many years pass, it will give him a little thrill to know that he's real, that Neil Josten is who he is. "Now, and forever."

He feels Andrew's gaze bore into him from the side, a heavy boot pressing to his knee. He hears Allison's amused huff behind him, and almost wants to turn to tell Matt and Dan they can't cry at a time like this. Renee is vigilant of James’ reaction, but serene. She knows a dangerous person when she sees one, but isn’t the type to intervene in a fight before one breaks out.

James nods at him, glances around at Neil's Foxes, and taps the envelope again.

There's a lump steadily growing in his throat, and from the way James’ swallows, he wonders if it’s the same for him. Albeit, probably for different reasons. Neil doesn't feel like he's in danger in the physical sense, but he's alone for the first time. This is someone from his past, his history. This is a connection the Foxes can't help him mend, and he's not even sure he wants to. He realizes that the decision revolves largely around how James feels. It should be of no consequence to Neil whether or not James is the one who walks away from him this time. It would be understandable, a returning gesture. But his hands only get clammier, his vocal cords squeezing.

And, well, James doesn't look like he's any closer to knowing how the hell he's supposed to feel either.

"I had a lot of things to say," he says after a beat too long, and it cuts off one thump of Neil's pulse awkwardly, and sets his heart off into an unbalanced rhythm. James coughs, huddling in on himself like when his father would focus on him, before realizing he's not supposed to do that anymore and straightening again. "And now…are you…with all this—"

He gestures around the room at the littered Exy sticks, at the pictures of games and banquets with Neil showing the ghost of a smile. At Andrew, and then at Neil again. Neil, who must look so much better. Fuller, with clothes that fit and a reignited fire inside him.

And for the first time, even with his body coiled tight and eyes desperate for the secrets Neil hasn't shared, Neil notes that James looks better too. Less beaten down and on edge, able to set his phone down and not pace the room thinking of his next step. There always needed to be a next step. Yet here they both sit, and in the grand scheme of things—for all they've been through—they're relatively calm.

And it's then Neil understands what James is asking, what he cannot bring himself to finish.

_Are you happy?_

Neil's eyes widen, and James looks away, grimacing at the far wall as he pushes his hands out in front of him. " _Don't_ , oh my god don't. Forget it, forget I—"

"No, I—" Neil starts, then stops. He huffs a laugh; he can't get too hung up on the definition here. Neither of them are well acquainted with the concept of happiness, if they believe in it at all. But Neil reads into the meaning there anyways.

James might be pissed as hell at him, might want to wring his neck...

But his first priority upon calming down was to check and see if Neil is okay here, if he's _content_.

So, maybe not all hope is lost.

Neil's almost curious about what would happen if he said no, but that would be far from the truth.

"I'm...yes, I'm—"

"Jesus fuck, you two, the word is _happy_ ," Nicky blurts before moving forward, the pressure too much for him to take. Whether for Neil's sake or his own insatiable need for gossip, Nicky flops onto the floor. "Are all you people like this?"

Sputtering, James glares at the brunet, and plants his feet firmly to stop himself from shooting up. " _Happiness_ isn’t exactly an easy word for people like us, so I'm trying over here. Happiness comes from survival, from coming out alive on the other end. That's all I meant."

Neil and Nicky roll their eyes simultaneously as James waves them off. Neil wants to say sure, wants to call him on it, but there was a time he thought exactly the same way. That was the truth according to his mother, though she'd never used the word happiness in her life. As long as they were alive, as long as they killed their enemies, that was victory. But victory seldom came with joy.

Nicky looks about ready to unleash his usual tirade of how cynical and short-sighted that is, about how there's more to life, but Neil has honestly heard it all before. Gratefully so, but he likes to think he's got a good enough grasp on it to speak for himself.

Neil did come out alive on the other end, but there was so much more he wanted, and that revelation had nearly undone him with feeling. His life isn't over—far from it.

And anyways, James knows that's not the truth either. He wouldn't be so calm and put together if _his_ life is still as shitty as it was. Neil hates how he does this, how he throws out pieces of information to wade through the waters of Neil's truths. He can't just come out and ask; he has to fish and coax out in his own ways.

Ugh.

_Just ask me if I'm safe._

"I don't have to worry about survival anymore," Neil interrupts, and James’ gaze snaps over to him warily. "I have other things that make me happy. I...there's more to it than that. I can't escape all that stuff. It's part of me _and_ you. But I'm okay here— _more_ than okay. You don't have to worry about me."

The room goes silent apart from Nicky's restrained squeal, and Neil doesn't know that he's smiling until Andrew pokes his cheek to get him to stop. Neil hears the ghost of a whispered percentage and practically beams.

Renee smiles serenely as James balks, setting a cup of tea in front of him. Neil pouts. "Renee, that's my cup."

It's the one he made at the pottery place. It has foxes drawn on it and _everything_.

Renee shrugs, and Neil will surely be admonished later for not doing enough dishes. Whatever. They're gross.

"Who even are you," James asks, but it lacks the lilt of a question, like he's trying to speak Nathaniel back into existence, or find Neil's secret 'help me' button. That, he could probably deal with, Neil guesses. Danger, lies, panic? All normal.

Color Me Mine? Not so much.

Smirking to himself, Neil steals James' cup of tea without him so much as noticing. He raises it to his lips, quirking a brow in a typical Andrew fashion. "What? Do you not have things that make you happy?"

James narrows his eyes, but from the way he relents, Neil marks that as a point in his favor. He's not expecting an answer, just a silent confirmation, but then James is giving him more. Neil may be inventing the motivation, but he’s grateful James is making up for the years where he endured Neil sitting cluelessly beside him. Too little, too late, but they both learned eventually.

Neil handles direct admission better than anything.

"I'm content as I am now," James whispers, stealing Neil's saucer as a consolation. "More than."

Neil's tea goes down a little tougher than he'd like. Sensing this, James holds out the saucer, and Neil places the cup right on top. The rattle of it makes them both flinch, but neither look away.

He nods, for lack of anything better to do. "Me too."

"Good."

"Yeah."

James stares down at the cup in agony as the room descends back into silence. Clearly, he didn't think he'd get this far.

Neil hates this. How do other people deal with their not-really-but-kinda-ex-boyfriends? He would like to ask them.

Luckily, Allison is the patron saint of meddling.

The click of her heels is menacing enough to have them both inching away from her when she sets herself at the head of the coffee table, and her sights settle on James after a beat of deliberation. He leans back further, trying to make himself taller whilst being pinned to the spot by her gaze.

Allison hums, all too judgmental.

"Okay, this is weird. At least give us some juicy gossip," she says eventually, evidently cataloguing the style of James' clothes and hair by the way she’s staring. She has the nerve to flick the piece of hair that's sticking up, settling down next to him like she owns the whole couch. James' face goes beet red, and he looks down like he’s making sure she's not actually pressed against him. Memories of Neil's first meeting with James surge back; it’s a good thing she didn't crawl into his lap. James would probably just die. "You're good looking enough, so I guess I'll believe Neil for now. How long did you two date?"

Neil is about to open his mouth to get her to knock it off, but James barks a laugh that lacks even an ounce of humor.

"Dating? Dating is a _stretch_. We kissed twice and then he gave me his swords to look after, which was probably more of a _‘I don't know where to put these’_ kind of gesture than a romantic one."

Neil's jaw drops slightly. He could've left those swords in a _hole_ , for fuck's sake.

Granted, it was definitely not romantic in the slightest. But still.

"You kissed him," Andrew states, and James regards him with confusion. It's only Neil who hears it as a correction, not a confirmation. Neil only kisses Andrew, would only ever want to kiss Andrew back with the same amount of feeling and passion. Neil squirms in his seat, thrilled whenever Andrew acknowledges how deep Neil's feelings run. The confidence is like a hit of _something_ —something amazing and all consuming.

Because Andrew knows, Andrew believes him. _Just you._

Aaron perks up from where he's sitting on the island, watching Andrew's expression intently and with barely restrained glee. Neil still doesn't get it.

"I assume you know what that's like, yes," James deadpans, but again it's him tailoring his information. Neil sighs. Andrew's record, which James more than likely checked out, might not look good on paper, but...

Neither does Neil's.

Andrew waves him off, crossing one leg over his knee, and Neil can't help but smirk.

"You don't have to worry about Andrew either," Neil mocks, and James seems to reconsider not just pouring the rest of the hot tea in Neil's lap.

Aaron, unable to contain himself any further, casts his own line out into the murky waters. "Jealous?" he asks Andrew, pleadingly, _hopefully_ , and oh, now Neil gets it. Andrew shoots Aaron the most blank, most unimpressed look he can, like Aaron is being especially pathetic.

"Is that all you've got?" Andrew asks, without a hint of feeling, and Aaron slumps in defeat. Neil has never had a sibling, so the weird games they play will never make sense to him. Still, he can tell Andrew just won this round, and _good_.

Andrew has no reason to be jealous anyways.

Defeated, and effectively over this whole experience, Aaron crosses his arms and sits on the floor. Well, alright.

"And what’s so special about him?" James asks in the next minute, and as much as Neil parses the words for the underlying message, he comes up short. It's a genuine question. Finding people who accept and understand them is difficult.

Neil is about ready to wax poetic; he's not sure he would ever be able to stop talking about Andrew if he was given permission, but Andrew must anticipate this. He cuts Neil off, and Neil huffs. One day.

"There doesn’t have to be," Andrew answers, and he and James proceed to have a silent standoff. Neil's skin itches from the warmth pulsing through him. The instinct to refute the statement fizzles out; that's not what Andrew means.

Of course, to Neil, Andrew will always be amazing.

But there's nothing special about Andrew in this sense. Just like it's not about what Neil _deserves_. It doesn't take someone special to accept someone like him, and vice versa. They just have to be willing to try, and that's why Andrew will always be the one Neil sees.

He doesn't deserve anything, but he has it, and he'll keep this for as long as it takes. They give and take. They ask. Their bond is not borne from a place of fate or extraordinary circumstance.

They just want to be together, and they put in the effort.

James blinks once, and for the first time, he smiles like he would back in the day. Smug and sure, like he figured out a particularly difficult formula. "Hm, alright. I get it."

He turns to see Neil's expression, no doubt dreamy and faraway with thoughts of Andrew. "I definitely get it…"

Neil blinks, but he doesn't have the time to pry into exactly what James means by that.

"Though you’re smaller than I would’ve imagined, had I imagined Neil with anyone _at all_ ," James muses to himself, reaching over for his phone finally. It's not for the distraction. His screen lights up with something and he swipes it, typing a quick message. He pays no mind to the way Matt and Dan wince at the brave words. "Honestly, Neil's such a hassle. Not to mention a massive waste of time in the wrong situation."

_Wow_.

Neil huffs, but he can't deny it. If he doesn't have a personal stake in something, an attachment, he's unlikely to lift a finger. He's not sure why James has to bring it up; there's no trace of bitterness there.

Neil is still slow with some things.

Just because Neil doesn't take offense, though, doesn't mean Andrew doesn't.

Neil sees him reach for his knives beneath his armbands before he can react; James tracks the movement excitedly, smirk sharpening as he waves his phone in one hand. Like his words mean nothing, like they’re without consequence.

Neil holds his breath. "Jay..."

"I'm all about analyzing and pulling out the best in people, but Neil never suited my needs—I can’t imagine him suiting yours."

Andrew strikes before Neil is out of his seat, and Allison screeches as she jumps away from the couch and to the floor. Another knife comes out from James' sleeve in the next second. It's longer, but weaker, more decorative than anything else. The dagger is curved with a point that could prick skin with the barest graze, and it creaks against the weight of Andrew's pressure, the way his knife is pushing against it. James barely blocked it in time, and his eyes raise a little in surprise. The knives are at a stalemate between them, but as far as borders go, the point of Andrew's knife is little close to James' heart. Andrew knew exactly where he was aiming, and he didn't hesitate.

Andrew's eyes narrow at where his steel meets the dagger's blade, and lifts his gaze up to James' face. There's no trace of the excitement that was there before, but the smugness definitely remains, light and mocking.

Andrew's shoulders sag the slightest degree, too subtle for anyone but Neil to catch. They've been had in typical, annoying Osorio fashion. James inclines his head at whatever is in Andrew's expression, seemingly satisfied with his reaction. "Good. I had to make sure. Surely, you understand."

And that's perhaps the worst insult, because Neil knows that Andrew does. More than anyone else, Andrew knows the limits that have to be pushed to protect the people he cares about.

To everyone's shock except Neil's, Andrew leans back after one good push forward. Neil couldn't see it before, but Andrew had gotten even closer than he realized. The base of the blade is pressed to the edge of James's palm, drawing a minuscule drop of blood. James winces, but lets it happen. They’re even.

Andrew pulls back fully and calmly slips his knife back into place. He doesn't look satisfied, far from it. Neil knows giving people the reactions they want is not part of Andrew’s agreement with anyone other than his family, _if then_. But in this case, when it concerns Neil, he begrudgingly accepts that he would've done the same.

James huffs, placing his dagger in front of Andrew for good measure. Despite his triumph, the shakiness of his movements proves that had been a little too close for comfort. One can never have too many peace offerings. Andrew examines the blade thoughtfully, his eyes shining at the luxury of it, and Neil can't help but smile.

Then James turns to him, and annoyance washes over Neil. "I guess he’s okay."

Neil barely looks at him. "I didn't ask you."

He can hear the smirk in James' voice even when he can't see it. "When do I ever need you to?" Then, grumpily, "That's my favorite knife, you know."

"You'll live," Neil mutters, and then adds a cheery bounce to his voice. "Or, you know, you won’t."

Tension defused, not even James' murderous glare can stop the Foxes from laughing along with Neil, or Kevin from butting in.

He practically slams his laptop down on the other edge of the table, sending a pointed look to Neil that very clearly says that _some people_ still have homework outside of his soap opera.

He's not sure when they all got so comfortable, but to Kevin, James is probably far from a Moriyama scare.

James is still staring at Neil, gaze slowly making its way over to Kevin's tantrum. "Grow up. How was I supposed to know you had good judgement when it comes to relationshi— _shit_ , is that one of the new Transfix computers?"

_Ah yes, I really feel like you care._

"The what?" Neil asks stupidly, but James is no longer paying attention to him in favor of the brand name monstrosity in Kevin's lap. Neil does not think of the laptop fondly, on account of Kevin dragging him to the mall to purchase the thing and keeping him waiting as he debated the screen size for over two hours.

That all means nothing to James, who looks like a shark with meat dangling just beyond his tank.

Kevin jumps as James scoots forward, manifesting a pair of reading glasses out of nowhere before he invades Kevin's personal space. The computer is new and shiny, and Kevin is still getting used to it, so he's rightfully protective. As James reaches out to snag it, Kevin holds it against his body, eyeing him with obvious suspicion.

At once, James is a kid again, lowering himself and patting his pockets as if he has something better to offer, like a bouncy ball or a particularly big piece of lint. Instead, he offers up his phone.

Well, he does have two.

"Can I inspect it? I want to know if it's overhyped trash," he says, eyeing the keyboard critically. It looks normal to Neil. He's not sure how much one can overhype a laptop, but what does he know? He's been using a dying knock-off.

Also, he can't help but be a little peeved that they were just starting to get somewhere, and this is what derails the conversation. "Jaime, seriously..."

James flushes at his real name, but doesn't do much other than send Neil a scathing look. Yeah, whatever. The day he indulges James by using his 'professional' name, forced upon him by prejudiced adults, will be the day Neil has been replaced.

James huffs at him. "I'll be with you in a minute, class act—can I see?"

He's back to hovering around Kevin, and rather than find out the consequences of disobeying or arguing, Kevin hands it over with a sigh.

James pops off the back in record time, and Neil thinks Kevin's soul leaves his body.

"If you would be so generous, I’d love to take it apart—oh, and, _and_! Fix it!" James promises, as though he's not already taking it apart. Neil has absolute faith that the computer will be fine—it's arguably in better hands with James—but he refuses to give him the credit as James keeps talking over him. "And if I find that it's a piece of shit, I’ll go run it over myself and fully reimburse you so you can buy something that’s not."

Kevin stares at him slack jawed, looking over at Neil for help that he honestly can't give him. James has a rather obsessive streak when it comes to this kind of thing, so it’s best to let him get it out of his system. If it helps them get through the years of unanswered questions and baggage, so be it.

Kevin, upon reading Neil's verdict, leaves the room. "I'm taking a nap. I'm done."

Neil wishes it were that easy for him.

Allison leans forward, smiling in amusement as she rests her cheek in her hand. Neil's not sure what she just realized or what she's thinking, but he's decided he doesn't want to know. He grumbles to himself, and then her gaze is on him, softer at the edges.

"He's just like you," Allison comments, and yeah, Neil definitely doesn't want to know what she means.

"Sad but true," Nicky muses, and Matt and Dan sigh from their perch a few feet away. Neil feels his insides lurch, his heart beating a little too fast.

He recalls their pitying smiles, the feeling of being surrounded on a dingy hotel room floor. Cocooned, looked after. It's always been difficult for him to accept their kindness, their care, with the way he is. It's his first instinct to push it away, to brush it off and say it's alright.

It's fine, because he can handle things on his own. He can focus on problems that don't bother him, that don't expose something raw and scared inside of him. He wouldn't trade his family's warmth for anything, but it that doesn't make it any easier to swallow.

Even now, when Andrew looks at him in that way, where Neil is all he has in his tumultuous mind, the mind that remembers everything...

A majority of Neil wants to drown in the feeling, to bask in it. But there will always be a small part of him that wants to hide away, because he was not supposed to have this chance.

Neil blinks at his family, at Dan's sympathetic expression, and glares at the surge of feelings inside him. He doesn't understand, but something in him clearly does. He looks to Andrew for explanation, but all he gets is a raised brow and a gaze that says ‘C’mon now, little rabbit.'

For lack of another outlet, he spins back on James as he tinkers. "Why do you do this?" he asks, throwing up his hands. "I thought you came here to _talk_ to me."

Or...something.

James pauses, mutters something under his breath in a language Neil didn’t know he spoke, another thing that’s changed, _another_ thing to remind him they know too much about each other and yet nothing at all.

James' hands slow down where they're flipping through Kevin's laptop, through the manual on his phone. That's Neil's only indication that James can hear him, that he's not as distracted as he's pretending to be.

_You're avoiding me._

And he hates it. Isn't that rich? This whole time he thought he'd love it if James had never come, had left Neil to his own devices and stayed a fixture of the past so Neil wouldn't have to deal with this mess in his head.

But now that James is in front of him, childish and defensive, he can't see it like that. _I never knew I could turn out like this, but I did._

Maybe a small part of him wants to know if James made it out alive too. But more than that, he wants to extend the same care he was given, if only this once. Even if he fails.

Neil's temper spikes.

"What was the use coming here if you were just going to run away?" Neil says, and at James' sharp inhale, he pushes further. "Do you not care now that you've gotten your questions answered?"

Neil knows it's far from the truth, but he needed something and it worked. None of their questions are close to being resolved—none of their past, none of the veiled conversations or stunted secrets. Neither of them have scratched the surface of what they really want to say. James' eyes flash up to Neil's, a volcano eruption of heat and plasma, and he pushes the computer aside as he stands.

Andrew watches him warily, but must ultimately decide James poses no threat. His height is a shield right then and nothing more. His posture is tight; afraid, vulnerable.

Fine.

"Oh, we're talking about caring now..." James breathes out shakily. Neil glares up at him. "Well, I know _you_ don't care to remember much about _me_ , but I quite like computers. This isn't out of character, but I guess neither is your attitude. I said I'd be with you in a minute."

"You should remember I'm not patient either," Neil spits back, and stands too. Their weird dance of one-upping one another never ends, and James backs up; what Neil lacks in height he makes up for in sheer force of will, and James knows it.

If they have to go through this the stupid way to get anywhere, so be it.

James is quiet for a while, staring at the corpse of the laptop before looking up to Neil. Suddenly, Neil wonders if he even cared about the computer at all from the start. Everything he's done has been a way to pry in Neil's life without giving anything up himself.

It sounds familiar—the nosiness, the strange and unexplained urge to fix things as long as they have nothing to do with themselves. The selfish tendencies are masked by those actions; neither of them are good people, but that's not a problem. They don't have to be. But they look out for their own.

Neil just never really thought they fell into each other's definition of that.

"Oh, how could I forget," James muses awkwardly, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "You couldn't wait to get out of there."

Neil inhales sharply.

James narrows his eyes. "Or do you not remember that either?"

He feels the pressure of a hilt his hand, being passed from one owner to the other. He remembers the smell of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages when James would take out a first aid kit on the rare occasions his mother let someone else deal with him. He can recall the look in James' eyes, the confusion and disbelief, since they knew deep down it would be the last time they ever saw each other.

It's clear as freshly cleaned glass.

And how dare he think Neil doesn't remember? In the moment, Neil shocks himself with how offended he is by that. Because he shouldn't be. He's blocked out so much of that time before becoming a Fox; he never truly lets go of the grisliness, the fear and paranoia...

But the faces, the names, were all deemed unimportant in his head for his own sake.

Sometimes, though he hasn't had the strength to admit it to himself, even his mother's face has started to become a blur. He can't bear to think of her eyes, her frown, or the deep wrinkles from her constant glaring.

But he didn't have that problem with James. Even though he avoided the memories then, if he actually focuses on them, they're clear. There's no pixelated gaps or fog— just nights under the stars and hiding in the far off ditches of wherever they were hiding out. Arguments, bickering, the way James always had to force himself to speak well of his family while Neil never talked about his own at all.

Neil shakes his head, and finds his voice just as James is turning away.

"That's not true," Neil says, no longer thinking about his words. Being honest is hard on him, but he's getting better at it. "I didn't want to go."

He never wanted any of that life, but he had no choice. And even if he didn't understand then what they were to one another, even though he didn't put any effort into whatever attachment they had, it's no mistake that he can recall the memories without pain or agony. That says something, that’s enough to tell him that right here and now, Neil doesn’t feel hatred or resentment for the man in front of him.

As much as he knew running was essential, it was never easy. Those nights spent with James, while fleeting, had to have helped. They gave the first subtle drops of understanding he received, and maybe his first...friend. Because of the Foxes, he can look back with more insight than he had back then. It might be too late, but he'll never know unless they stop this run around.

James quivers slightly, and he fiddles with the silver ring on his finger. "But you didn't want to stay either," he says, and it stings. And well, that's not a lie. Neil didn't know better. He opens his mouth to explain that as best he can, but James continues, tapping his shoe against the floor. He struggles to get the words out, but if Neil is putting in the effort, it's in his nature to challenge him. For once, Neil is thankful. "But...that wasn't your fault. You didn't owe me that."

Neil's shoulders relax slightly at the concession, the veiled apology. He doesn't hold it against James; it's not in their nature to throw the words around. He can't imagine how hung up James has been about Neil's disappearance over the past few years, so for him to try and let it go...

Neil sighs. He hears Andrew shift beside him, intrigued, and Neil relents. "I didn't."

But...

"But that doesn't mean I don't remember, that it wasn't important. I remember things about _you,_ Jay," he stresses, and bites back the insult that wants to fly with it. Honestly, they're both so dramatic. With how much pain they've gone through, the fact they can still care about things as trivial and unimportant as this…makes Neil almost glad. They're still human. "I care enough to remember, so you can quit feeling sorry for yourself. For someone so smart, you sure like creating your own convoluted problems."

_I never saw you as something to throw out. Not like everyone else did._

Shouldn't James know? People like them seldom get things right the first time around.

James scoffs, but doesn't respond.

There's a click of someone's tongue from the corner of the room, and they both flinch.

"How did you stand being with this guy?"

And oh, Neil guesses Aaron isn't done being a part of this yet.

James’ head snaps up to look over at him, and that's when Neil notices Dan and Matt quietly sharing a bag of chips. Allison looks to Aaron, shrugging as if he has a point.

James blinks. "Excuse me?"

Aaron and Neil both share a glare, but as someone who has been on the direct end of Neil's fucked up version of consideration and forced resolution, Neil supposes he has no choice but to let Aaron have his say. "How did you stand being with someone like him?"

Nicky laughs into his hand. "I'm curious too—not that we don't love Neil, but he's a hard one."

And Matt and Dan chime in, in unison: "Yup."

Never mind, Neil doesn't want to be here anymore. Andrew grabs his wrist firmly, tugging him down to sit pressed against him, and Neil follows. He watches James just as intently as the blond does as the other processes the question. James hesitates only a moment, mouth hanging open as he takes in Neil's entirety.

Neil doesn't have time to figure out why Andrew cares about the answer, why any of them do, but then—

James huffs an exhausted laugh and flops back onto the couch. "Neil does this thing where he makes you feel like shit, but not in a malicious way. Like...only when it's necessary, when you need someone to tell you you're being the worst. He can see what you're doing, how you're sabotaging yourself, and you hate him so much for it. You hate him because you know he's right deep down, and you listen even when you don't want to, because maybe you want to be better than you are in the moment."

Neil's breath catches at the expression on James' face, all open and without anything held back. He's not fishing for more, but he's doing what Neil always needed him to do. Be upfront. And while Neil probably knew James' felt something endearing for him, he never expected the scope. Because if Neil is being honest, James is giving him way too much credit and insight.

But he guesses that's what friends do. They hype you up even when you don't necessarily deserve all of it.

James smiles at Neil's speechlessness. "No one ever cared enough about me to do that," he explains. "So I wanted to return the favor, just...with a little more yelling. 'Cause you're obnoxious, and quite frankly, I want to strangle you half the time."

Neil laughs, and swallows the lump in his throat. Well, that feeling is certainly mutual.

Neil feels Andrew sag against him, relaxation taking over, and he blinks in confusion at him, then the rest of his Foxes. They're all smiling, though Aaron's is a bit begrudging.

_Huh?_

"Hm, sounds about right," Aaron sighs, rolling his eyes. "I'm out of here."

"Us too," Matt and Dan say, ushering Allison and Nicky to the door. When it looks like they're about to protest, Dan utilizes her captain's voice. " _Now_."

That, coupled with Renee’s gentle prodding, forces them forward.

"Wait..." Neil tries as they all file out, and they all pause at the door. James wipes the light blush on his face with the back of his hand. "What just—"

"I've been had, _willingly_ ," James mutters. "But I guess I deserved that."

"You test us, you get tested back," Andrew affirms, and Neil whips his head around to face him.

" _Andrew_ ," Neil whines, because he's tired of being in the dark. James raises an eyebrow in amusement. _Yes, yes, whatever. I'm allowed to be weak with my boyfriend._

"You'll figure it out." That’s all Andrew gives him, though for once Neil doesn't appreciate his faith in his capabilities. He has a headache.

James shakes his head, and again Neil is left replaying the words in his head.

_"I wanted to return the favor."_

That's what James had said. When he rewinds a little, the meaning is as crystal clear as his memories of the other man are.

_"I wanted to care about you, too."_

And yes, that's transparent to him now; he believes him, even if it's clear James still doesn't believe him back. He gets that. Back then... "I didn't know."

Neil never even made the effort.

James snorts. "Well yeah, no shock there," he says, and crosses his arms at Neil's glare. "You can’t even RSVP."

RSVP?

And ah, it all comes back to that _fucking_ letter. Neil almost growls as he grabs it from James' side of the table. _How petty can you be?_ Neil knows he's not the best at this, but he's trying. What does he have to do to make James believe him? "Is your birthday really that important right now?"

November is months away, anyways...

Fury spikes in James' eyes only to be thoroughly doused once his brain catches up. "It's _not_ —wait, you remember my birthday?"

Neil raises one hand in disbelief, grasping for the strings of insight that'll let him know exactly what goes on in James’ head at any given moment. "Yes? November 23rd."

He's not sure why, but something about James' shock finally does it for him. Neil's expression sours.

"I know a lot more than you think I do," Neil seethes, and James jumps back. _How many times do I have to tell you?_ "Just because I didn’t feel the same way, just because I didn’t _know_ then that you were my friend—"

But James has heard enough, or perhaps he can't handle more.

He makes his way to the door, and the Foxes clear a path for him. Neil jumps up before he realizes what he's doing, intent to follow for once. Andrew keeps him there, a steady weight on his palm.

When Neil looks down at him in question, Andrew's gaze is a light warning.

James turns around one last time, a mess of red cheeks and a hand caught in the tangles of his hair. "I _don’t_ believe you, I actually— _ugh_. This was not what was supposed to happen, and it was a waste of my time to come here and let you try to convince me otherwise. I don't know why I—you're alive, that's all that matters. I couldn't live with just that for some fucked up reason."

_Because you're always searching for more. More information, more explanation._

And that's alright, Neil knows. He finds that he wouldn't mind giving James those things. But that's when Neil gets it.

James isn't used to people caring about him, to getting more than the bare minimum. He was expecting to confirm Neil's apathy towards him, to sever the ties between them once and for all. But that's not what happened, and his expectations were thrown to the wind.

That's mutual too.

Not everything has to end badly, Neil wants to say, and knows that would probably just make James' tantrum worse. It's so out of character, so against everything he knows about Neil.

So, Neil smiles instead, because wow...

_You're so dumb._

Yet Neil is talking to both of them when he says, "You do this every time, you walk away when something is too much."

James tenses, and Neil shakes his head. "But I'm not walking away this time. Not on my own. I'll let you forget me, if that's what you want. But this time, I'm not leaving you without the choice."

_I don't run away anymore, not from anything._

As if he can hear the sentiment, Andrew trails his hand down Neil's wrist until their pinkies are locked together, lightly swinging. Neil can't help but smile; none of James' feelings matter to Andrew in the slightest. James could drop dead and Andrew wouldn't feel sympathy for the man. But he cares about Neil, knows what it means to confront and move on from the past. So whether this ends in James disappearing forever or not, Andrew will be by Neil's side.

"That being said, I'd be surprised if you left," Neil muses, and drives the point home right into James' face. "Remember when I sprained my wrist? You and your brother were the ones who came out to look me over, my mom wasn't above reusing contacts at that point. You got into that big fight with him because he was using the wrong bandages or something? You were really dramatic, but you wanted to make sure I would be okay. You wouldn't leave me alone, even when I told you I was fine."

James is silent the entire time, but he's shaking. It's perhaps the most insignificant of memories, given what they've been through, but that's the point. Neil still didn't let himself forget. "I never thought much about it then, but that's not the kind of person who walks away on the rare occasion that they give a damn about someone."

All in all, the implication is clear: _You can't fool me_.

Not anymore—it's a thinly veiled promise. Neil is still not good with his emotions, with consideration or fragility, and it's not like James needs any of it. But he's willing to try and be aware now, if James is willing.

Friends. The word still makes Neil's skin crawl slightly, because they're not something he's supposed to have. But he's strong enough to push back against instinct now, to take his own steps forward.

James stares at him for one second too long, his features softening, and then he's walking out. Neil's heart doesn't sink, nor does he panic. He can't even say he's disappointed. He meant it; he gave James the chance to stay, to try and care again, in whatever non-traditional way they could manage. But Neil can't feel sad for a ghost, can't be attached to someone he no longer knows. Just as he's about to be resigned to this, to things ending there, James calls back quietly. "I'll be outside just...for a second."

Neil's head shoots back up as he watches James walk past the Foxes, and he's too stunned to move.

It's Matt who pulls him back to reality, hands on his hips. "Jeez, buddy, you really have a way of being sweet while still being a dick."

Neil thinks it's a compliment. At the very least, it's probably accurate.

"That was interesting," Andrew sighs, and then he hands Neil the letter again. "Well?"

Neil takes it from his hand, smoothing over the creases. His brow furrows, and he looks to Andrew again, searching for any judgement or doubt. Of course, he finds none, but he still has to ask. "Am I wrong?"

And in a rare moment of humoring Neil, Andrew answers him without any vagueness, without making him try and parse through it on his own. Andrew only does that when it's for Neil's own good. In this case, it's simply him stating the facts. "It's too early to know that."

Mm, sounds about right.

Neil smiles down at the letter. "Yeah..."

He presses down on Andrew's shoulder, a silent bid for him to stay put as Neil looks up at the door. This is not something he needs help with anymore.

He steels himself one last time, and his feet start moving.

\--

He finds James playing on his phone over the far railing, just down the hallway. The dorms are empty on the weekends, so there's no foot traffic, no one to marvel at how out of place James looks with his expensive clothes and menacing aura.

Neil's approach is the only one, and James doesn't have to look to know it's him. Deflated, James sighs out at the parking lot, no doubt building a maze out of the adjacent lines which paint the asphalt.

Neil taps the letter against the railing anyways, a warning that he's not going to leave unless James tells him to.

That doesn't seem to be the case though. James puts his phone away after sending off a text, and Neil catches a glimpse of one too many hearts on the screen.

James looks at him then, flitting his gaze down the scars on Neil's cheeks, mirroring their position. He brings a finger up to his own face, smoothing the skin under his eyelids.

"Can I ask who did that to your face?" James asks, seemingly out of nowhere, and backtracks at Neil's stare. "I meant to ask. I just...got carried away."

Ah.

Out of respect, Neil keeps his smirk to himself. He doesn't bring up the fact James probably didn't ask because it proves Neil's last point a little too well. _Thanks for worrying, but I don't need it._

Neil nods. "Tends to happen with me, I guess."

James' grip tightens on the railing. "So, who?"

"Not important," Neil says, and James tenses, ready to protest. Neil cuts him off. "They're dead, I'm not. There's nothing left to do."

He leaves out the blood contract with the Moriyamas, because he's sure James already knows. You don't cut a deal like that and not have word spread quickly in the underworld.

James almost looks disappointed. He has power now—authority. He probably always hated being helpless to stop Neil's family from hunting him, and now that he's capable, there's no need. But then he nods, resigned. It's a good thing, all in all.

"Now, are you going to stop being the worst?" Neil asks, holding up the letter to cover his mouth. It's still unopened. He knows it's for him, but now that James is here, it feels almost wrong to open it without having him witness the result.

James blinks at it and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I'll be honest it...it was never really about the letter," James sighs, then scrambles with his hands in front of him. "I—I mean it's a real _event_ it's just—I wanted proof, okay? That you were around. I kind of didn't believe the rumors. You know me..."

"Only seeing is believing."

He's happy he got to see his father die, or else he'd be questioning that to this day.

"Exactly," James echoes. "Even if you sent a rejection, even if you just wrote one sentence telling me to fuck off, I would've known you were okay, and _alive_. So when you didn't, I just had to come see for myself."

Neil grins faintly, dangling his armsover the railing beside him. "And if I hadn't been okay?"

James looks at him like he's got worms for brains. "Then I would've offered to take you away," he says, _obviously_. Neil shoves him. He eyes James warily at the statement. As resigned as Neil is to being friends at this point, he assumes James knows it can never be more than that.

Sensing the question, James shakes his head. "It's not like that anymore, alright? It's not for me. But I still—I still don't want anything _awful_ to happen to you. Unless it comes from me, since I'm sure one day I will finally give into the urge to kill you."

"As if you could," Neil shoots back, and James concedes to that much. Neil is rusty, not inexperienced.

"You were put on this earth to piss me off, you know," James mutters, almost to himself. But he doesn't take back anything, doesn't refute the statement.

"You wanted to check on me because you're my friend," Neil says, because he's tired of them dodging the bare bones issue. They both grimace at the childish sentiment, but don't deny it.

"Yeah, I guess."

Neil leans back, hands hanging on the railing, and mulls over his words. "I never knew we were friends back then, I never thought about it. That doesn't mean we weren't."

"I get _it_ ," James says, but the tips of his ears are tinged with red. He puts his hands over them as if to block him out. "Congrats, your vocabulary has expanded. Stop already, I can't take it...Is that supposed to be your apology?"

"No," Neil scoffs, and James has enough energy to weakly glare at him. "I won't apologize, I just won't do it again. I'll do better."

Or, he'll at least attempt it. Given what they know about each other though, he's sure that's unspoken.

James lowers his hands slowly, eyeing Neil with suspicion. He supposes that's fair; he didn't expect this to resolve quickly. He didn’t even have a real timeframe in mind. That's never how things work, and these days he has the luxury of killing time and going with the flow of it all. He may never see James ever again even with this understanding between them—but if he does, he anticipates it'll get easier each time.

James stares at him for a moment longer, and that vulnerability is back, the boy who second guesses everyone's intentions, because no one would pay him much mind other than to get to his father or his brothers. But Neil had never been like that, so there's no reason to assume anything has changed now.

"I still don't know if I believe you," James says, and Neil inclines his head in acceptance of that. James fiddles with his ring again, and for some reason Neil finds himself reaching to tap against the tattoo on his leg. It's his reminder that he's not alone even when he's standing here with no one else beside him. He has people looking after him, and the sentiment is returned. He can only assume it's the same for James. Perhaps one day, he will come to feel that way about Neil too. Regardless, Neil is grateful he has someone.

Eventually, James relents and grabs the railing again. "But okay, I'll see where it goes. I won't run. I can't be like you, after all."

Right.

"How generous."

James smirks. "Well, you know me."

_Yeah. You're far from the giving type_. Somehow, that almost makes it meaningful.

"What's the letter, anyways?" Neil finally asks now that most of the tension is gone. As he asks it, he finds himself already unpopping the seal, revealing a thick, off-white invitation.

It takes him a while to process the frilly writing, complete with dainty hearts at each corner of the bordered paper, but his brain catches up once he sees James' name, his real name, next to another.

Neil's eyes widen.

"I'm uh, getting married," James says, suddenly nervous at Neil's expression. Regardless, he can't keep the smile from his face or his voice. Neil stares up at him as he fumbles, oddly young in his gestures. James points to the ring on his finger, then nervously stuffs it away. Not more than a few seconds later, he’s showing it off again because it excites him too much. It's so lame, it almost doesn't compute with what Neil knows about him, but he guesses they can both change a lot. It's for the best.

Neil looks down at the letters of his fiancé’s name. He recognizes her surname and the weight it holds. _Guess James is doing just fine without his family._

"And you want _me_ to come?" Neil asks.

"You know how I love the scandal," James says with a cough. His smile has an edge to it. "Think about it—my ex at my wedding. What a party."

_You're so weird._

Neil doesn't call him out on what the invite really means; he just takes it for the gesture that it is. James is saying that if Neil would like to be there, he can be.

"You don't have to come," James backpedals when Neil is silent for too long. "I mean, you _should,_ because it's going to be awesome. And if your boyfriend likes dessert there's going to be a chocolate fountain and everything."

Neil squints. "You hate sweets."

"She doesn't."

Like that's all the explanation needed. It's overwhelming, just how much Neil resonates with that. The need to make the person you care about happy...

Neil smiles sadly at the letter, then out at the parking lot. To think that they almost did not have this together.

They certainly don't deserve any of it, they've never deserved anything. They fought, though. They survived, and now it's...fine. More than fine; it's content, calm.

He must've zoned out; the next thing he feels is James’ tentative touch on the letter in his hands, pulling it away. Neil blinks down at it, then back up at his friend.

There's still the slightest bit of concern there.

"Neil, are you really okay here?" he asks. "Because if you aren't, if you're ever not...you just have to tell me. I'm not good at this. I'm not going to be kind about it or comforting, I'm not going to baby you, but I'll help. If you need to run again, at least...at least run to me. Well, to us."

He gestures down to the letter, at the fancy script which probably doesn't even broach the surface of how he feels for her. Neil smiles, grateful for it.

"That's a bold invitation, what if she hates me?" he jokes. Her family name has a reputation, after all.

James barks a laugh, but his smile is all fond. "She doesn't hate anybody," he says, waving off the statement. "She's not like us."

Well, if she's in love with James, he doubts that. But he won't rain on James' parade.

"Thank you," Neil says, and he means it. "But this is my home. Andrew's my home."

He feels the sword burn into his thigh, and grips his own wrist to feel the softness of his armbands. Yes, he could never give this up, could never turn away.

But it's not the worst feeling, to know that should everything turn to shit, he has another resource out there. A place to go.

Searching Neil’s eyes for any of the lies that would be so familiar, James nods, and comes to his conclusion. "Then I believe you."

Neil doesn't realize he's grinning until he has to smooth out the muscles of his cheeks. "And what about her?"

James quirks a brow. "Hm?"

"Is she your home?" he asks, because it's important. This thing they're trying out, this friendship, the consideration has to go both ways. The realization seems to hit James, and he lights up, so unfathomably taken that Neil almost wants to retch.

No wonder Andrew always tells him to stop making those faces—he can only imagine how he must look.

James puts a hand over his heart, patting the spot twice to give his word. "Yes."

And well, that's all Neil needs to know.

\--

A week later, Kevin gets a check in the mail for several thousand dollars with a memo that reads: _For a not-shitty laptop._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, comments are appreciated ; ; I'm not sure what I'm going to be working on next since this was my last wip, I know I have updates to do but...we shall see
> 
> Also yes, Jaime's fiance is also my OC and yes I'm very in love with her, just as he is ^^ 
> 
> thanks again for reading my self-indulgent fic, y'all are awesome <3


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